Greater Love
by KCS
Summary: Watson discovers that Moriarty had threatened something more important to Holmes than his own life if he continued with the case in 1891. Not slash. Part One of the 'Greater Love' trilogy.
1. Chapter 1

_**Greater Love**_

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing you recognise from Canon.

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Out of the many Christmases I spent in the company of the world's greatest, and only, private consulting detective, there is one holiday season that stands out in my mind. Not because of any heinous crime my friend solved during the season of goodwill, not because of any violent melodrama forced upon our lives at the most wonderful time of the year, but because of an event which most would term a mere incident, but which I shall ever remember as the clearing up of a personal mystery which had been troubling me for some time.

At the time I mention, a bitterly cold Christmas Eve in 1897, the streets and sidewalks were covered with several inches of snow and slush, making travel a slow and very chilling experience. I was sitting in front of a roaring fire in our Baker Street sitting room, congratulating myself on having done my Christmas shopping early enough to negate my going out in such inclement conditions, when Sherlock Holmes burst violently out of his bedroom into the sitting room.

"Watson! Where the devil is it?" he shouted, rummaging through the drawers in the cabinet by the window.

I stifled a groan, having just organized the files inside for the second time in as many weeks. Holmes had the most annoying habit of destroying anything that got in his way when he needed to find a document. I knew that if we did not find whatever it was that he was looking for, I would be spending the rest of my Christmas holiday picking up papers and books from the floor of the sitting room.

"If you were to tell me what _it_ is, my dear Holmes, I might be able to help you find the thing. And stop you from completely destroying Mrs. Hudson's hard work in tidying up this room!"

"The file, Watson, the Beddington murder file. Spring 1881, I'm sure of it! Where the deuce did you put it in your over-zealous organization of my records?"

This tirade was accompanied by a mountain of papers sliding to the floor to scatter at his feet. Not a whit disconcerted, he continued his violent search of our records. I winced as a large scrapbook slammed to the ground, pages coming dangerously close to spilling out of it.

"Holmes, I –"

"Confound it!" Holmes snarled, flinging a file across the room to land on the table, "it used to be right here! Why in the world must you mess with my things anyway, Watson?"

In the early days of our association, such a statement would have provoked an irate response from me. However, through the years, I had learned to read my friend like one of those very books which he was now throwing to the floor, and I knew his irritation was not directed at me but on the elusive file. Instead of retorting to his provocation, I got up and began searching through the books and files on my desk.

"You are certain it was 1881, Holmes?"

"Really, Watson!"

_Sorry I asked,_ I thought, opening another drawer. A crashing noise behind me made me cringe. Not wanting to know what Holmes had thrown _this_ time, I didn't dare turn round.

"All the 1881 records are either in that cabinet you are so intent on destroying, Holmes, or they are in the top drawer of the wardrobe in your room. Especially if they were ones I was not directly involved in. I don't recall the name Beddington. Perhaps the files are in your room."

"They're not, Watson," Holmes replied, tossing two books behind him, where they came dangerously close to knocking over the teapot from lunch. "I already searched everywhere, and that file has completely vanished, thanks to your attack of tidiness!"

Another book went crashing to the floor.

"I simply must have that file today, Watson – it's vital, absolutely vital, to this case of Mycroft's – **hah**!"

His ranting came to an abrupt stop as he snatched at one of the few remaining files in the cabinet, rifling through it so rapidly I was afraid he might tear the pages contained within.

Throwing me one of those quirky half-smiles which usually took the place of an apology for his mood swings, he stuffed the file into his jacket, grabbed his hat and coat from the stand in the hall, and rushed off without saying another word to me. I smiled indulgently as I heard him shouting on his way down the stairs for Mrs. Hudson to "get him a cab this instant!" and then cringed as he slammed the front door behind him.

I walked over to the desk, treading carefully to avoid stepping on the immense litter on the floor, and glanced at the spot from which he had taken the file. There, labeled carefully in my neatest handwriting, was the card inscribed_ March 1881_. Over-zealous organization, indeed.

My tolerance level is, I believe, one of the highest, but even I have limits, and when I turned from the window and saw just exactly how much damage Holmes had done in his pursuit of that elusive file, I became more than a trifle annoyed with my friend.

I knew Holmes would not return until he chose to, and heaven only knew when that would be. I doubted if he even remembered that this day was Christmas Eve; since he had been on this case for his brother, his only thoughts had been on the problem at hand. Why I continued to hope or expect differently was an even greater mystery than Holmes's current one.

With a small sigh, I began the laborious work of cleaning up the mess my companion had created before his departure. Starting in the sitting room, I began to pick up the books and re-stack them neatly on the shelves. I gathered up the scattered papers and then began to sort them by date, re-filing them in my desk and the cabinet as I did so.

As I worked, my irritation (Mrs. Hudson had insisted in no uncertain terms the last time this had happened that our rent most certainly did NOT cover having to re-organize nearly twenty years' worth of case notes – thus the job of filing and sorting had fallen to me) began to dissipate as I glanced over notes from past cases I had forgotten about. Memories, both pleasant and unpleasant, began to overtake me, putting me in a more mellow frame of mind, so that when I finally moved on to Holmes's bedroom, I was no longer so severely irritated with my comrade.

Holmes's bedroom was in an even worse state of disarray than our sitting room – it looked as if every document and book he owned had somehow made its way to the floor. Sighing, I began once more the task of organizing his things.

I struggled to curb my innate curiosity and restrained myself from peeking into files of cases about which I knew nothing, provocative though some of the titles were. If the notes were in his bedroom, then that meant he did not wish for me to know about the details of the case, and I as always respected his privacy.

That is, until I was nearly finished, and one of the books I held fell off the stack in my hands and landed, open in the middle, on the floor. Placing the others back on the shelf, I bent down to pick up the offending volume, intending to put it alongside the others, when I saw my own name on one of the pages.

Curious as to what part I might have had in this memoir of a previous case, I glanced down at the page in question. It appeared to be a journal of some kind, and my attention was arrested at once by the date at the top of the entry. _April 28, 1891_.

A thousand memories assaulted my mind at the sight of the date – this book, then, was a journal of the days preceding the Moriarty trial and our flight to Switzerland, which had resulted in Holmes's supposed death.

So many questions still remained unanswered in my mind – so many things that I wanted, perhaps needed, to know, and yet Holmes had never told me anything else about Professor James Moriarty. Even in that spring of that year, as we fled England from the Professor and his gang, Holmes told me no more than that his life was in grave danger and that we must get out of the country until the arrests had been made. Even since his return in '94, he still evaded all questions I had about the time immediately preceding and following Reichenbach. Indeed, he only grew more reticent when questioned about those weeks and months, and I respected his silence and refrained from pursuing the matter any further.

I had intended to close the book, not wishing to intrude upon my friend's very private nature, but before I had done so my eyes had glanced at several of the words on the pages in question. To my surprise, I saw that my name was mentioned almost as often as Moriarty's own. Then I saw a sentence toward the end of the entry that made my breath catch in my throat.

Holmes's normally clear handwriting had become slightly unsteady at this point in the entry, and I stared at the lines he had penned in some shock.

_It has been two long, harrowing days since Moriarty gave me his ultimatum – drop the case, or Watson dies. I would care naught for his words if it were my life he was threatening - I fear few things, and death is not one of them. But the Professor has discovered my one weakness, Watson's safety, and I am at a loss what to do. Pray God I can find a way to extricate us both from the clutches of this monster. _

_SH

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_

**To be continued, of course.**


	2. Chapter 2

I remained in my crouching position on the floor, staring at the page written in Holmes's shaky handwriting, until my cramping muscles painfully brought my mind back to the present. I stood, not even feeling the pain as the blood rushed back to my aching limbs, as I tried to comprehend what I had read.

_'Moriarty gave me his ultimatum – drop the case, or Watson dies.' _The words sent a chill through me. What part had I unwittingly played in that drama, so many years ago? And why had Holmes not told me of it? How had I affected what had transpired? Could I have prevented any of it?

My mind reeled with what I had read, question after question bombarding my stunned senses. I forgot about the rest of the mess on Holmes's floor and took the leather-bound book out to the sitting room, where I collapsed into my chair by the fire. The heat did little to drive the chill from my core, however, as all the questions I had been harboring since Holmes's return came to the front.

I am not a fool, and it did not take a fool to know that some parts of Holmes's story about what had transpired at Reichenbach were absolute fabrications. I knew my Holmes too well – I could tell he was hiding something even as he glibly reeled off the list of his actions after his struggle with Moriarty. I had been hurt, deeply hurt, by his revelation that he had confided in his brother instead of me, and even after almost four years, those wounds had not yet fully healed.

The reader will no doubt be shocked at my blatant disregard for Holmes's self-imposed reticence, but I had been hurt, and angered, and still was to some extent, by his actions in '94. And now, as I stared at the book I held in my hands, I realized I could at last have all the answers I sought, and the temptation was too much for me to resist. Therefore, I am somewhat ashamed to say, that without a second thought about Holmes's privacy I opened the book and turned to the first page.

It was dated November of 1890, and I found nothing in that or the next few pages of any interest; apparently Holmes had connected a few crimes in London to the Professor and had recorded his suspicions in this journal. I flipped a few pages ahead in the journal to January, where my friend had recorded a detailed account of a forgery/robbery case in which the perpetrators had let slip something that allowed him the evidence he needed to start an investigation in earnest against the Professor.

I read his account with interest – although not written in fiction form, Holmes's account was so succinct and well-written I was surprised, and a little disconcerted, to learn that his writing skills were very definitely on at least an equal plane with my own. It is of no wonder he deplored my romantic writing style.

I followed his investigation through the pages of his journal through January, then February, March, and then the beginning of April. Holmes's writing took on a more intense, excited tone; I could almost hear his clipped, curt voice relating the events as they transpired.

He was close now, very close. According to this journal, he now had enough evidence to put Moriarty away and most of the members of the gang. I saw no mention of Colonel Sebastian Moran, save a footnote from Holmes to himself that the Professor's chief lieutenant was very heavily protected, but there was an overwhelming amount of evidence against Moriarty himself. I wondered abstractedly if it was this particular journal that prompted the arson attack on these rooms the night before our departure for the Continent.

I turned the page to an entry marked _April 26, 1891,_ and began to read.

_April 26, 1891_

_I must confess to being thoroughly shaken by a sudden, and malicious, turn of events. I am close, so very close, on Moriarty's trail that he has tried already to dispose of me several times. That close call last night with a four-wheeler showed me that he is running very scared indeed. _

_I was quite jubilant about the possible rapid denouement of the case until this afternoon, when the man himself showed up in my sitting room._

_I had been out, in disguise for safety's sake, to see my brother and get his advice on one aspect of the Moriarty gang's defenses. Upon my entry of the sitting room, I closed the blinds as I have done now for the past week, and then threw my disguise on Watson's old desk in the corner. A small sound alerted me just in time to thrust my hand into my coat pocket, where I had taken to carrying my pistol at all times of the day or night, and whirl around, only to find the Professor himself, standing in my bedroom doorway, pointing a gun of his own at my head._

_"Professor, I didn't expect to see you so soon," I said coolly, trying to assess my chances at shooting through my coat pocket if need be._

_"Mr. Holmes. May I say, that it is a dangerous habit to finger a loaded firearm in the pocket of one's jacket? And it does make such an unsightly hole in one's clothing, firing through several layers of fabric."_

_"I have many dangerous habits, Professor," I replied, "including the pursuit of you and that gang of yours, eh?"_

_"Touché," the man said, his head slowly oscillating back and forth in that snakelike fashion that comes so close to unnerving me. _

_After a moment's hesitation, Moriarty stepped into the sitting room and placed his pistol on the sideboard. It is a testimony to the man's supreme nerve that he directly turned his back on me to do so. Then he turned around, his head moving back and forth, still assessing my every move. After we stared at each other for a few moments in silence, I also removed my revolver and placed it within easy reach on Watson's desk. How I wished at that moment that the man himself was standing at my side – times like these I realized just how much I really needed my Boswell._

_"I believe it is your move, Professor," I stated._

_"Everything I have to say has already crossed your mind, Holmes."_

_"Then perhaps my answer has crossed yours."_

_"You stand fast?"_

_"Absolutely."_

I read the all-too-familiar exchange between my friend and the professor, and the warmth that had filled my heart at Holmes's mentioning needing me was replaced by something of the same dread and fear that had chilled me when Holmes related this discussion for the first time nearly seven years ago. However, the dialogue took on a radically different turn than the one Holmes had originally described to me.

_I snatched up the pistol as Moriarty put his hand in his back pocket, but the man merely shook his head tolerantly and drew out a small memorandum book. I mentally berated myself for my momentary lapse of emotional control and reverted back to my calm, aloof exterior._

_"Forgive my hastiness, Professor."_

_"You amuse me, Holmes. You are standing here in the face of absolute destruction, and yet you still worry about your precious defenses against all showing of emotion." Moriarty's head inclined slowly as my gaze narrowed, proving to him he had hit home._

_"You did not come here to discuss my emotional shortcomings, my dear Professor. Pray proceed, for my time is of value, and I am neglecting important business elsewhere." _

_Moriarty glared at me for a moment, and then opened his memo-book._

_"I find here that you crossed my path on the 4__th__ of January. On the 23__rd__ you incommoded me. By the middle of February I was seriously inconvenienced by you; at the end of March I was absolutely hampered in my plans, and now, at the close of April, I find myself placed in such a position through your continual persecution that I am in positive danger of losing my liberty."_

_"That was certainly the objective I had in mind," I replied dryly._

_"You must drop it, Mr. Holmes. You really must, you know." His head began that oscillation again, creating an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach._

_"Professor, I repeat my words of earlier, that I do stand fast. Absolutely. And I can assure you, no amount of danger can change my mind upon that point." I stated firmly._

_"You are not in mere danger, Holmes," Moriarty said calmly, "you are standing in the face of inevitable destruction. And nothing you may say or do save dropping the case will change that fact."_

_"There is not a man alive that fears death less than I, Professor. Personal danger will never get me to yield. You obviously do not know me."_

_Moriarty's reptilian eyes took on a venomous appearance as he replied, "On the contrary, I think it is fairly evident that I do," said he, fixing a snake-like stare upon me. _

_"Pray enlighten me, then, Professor." I scoffed, trying to ignore the gnawing unease I felt under that gaze._

_"Just this, Holmes. I give you my final ultimatum. Drop this case, or the Doctor dies." Moriarty spun on his heel and reached for the doorknob._

_"Wait!" I called frantically, before I could restrain my first impulse. The Professor turned slowly around, a malevolent smile of satisfaction on his face. I cursed myself mentally for letting him know I had let down my guard._

_"I rather thought so," the man said, the smile never leaving his face, "you see, I do know you better than you think. I admire you, Holmes. You've put up a façade for all the world to see that you're untouchable, aloof. But every man has his price, Holmes, even calculating machines, where all emotions, love especially, are abhorrent to the cold, precise, but admirably balanced mind, eh?"_

I cringed at hearing the Napoleon of Crime using my own words as a weapon against my dearest friend. Written in the early days of our association, before I began to truly know Holmes and understand the man who was to become my best friend, those early, hasty words were now being twisted into a very effective weapon in this sordid drama I was reading.

_I must have blanched, for his smile grew wider. Reining in every vestige of control I had, I looked at him for some minutes in silence._

_"You wouldn't dare, Moriarty," I said finally in a low voice, wishing desperately I could believe it to be true._

_"Really, Mr. Holmes. A cliché worthy of the Strand Magazine. But yes, you ought to know me well enough to know I would_ certainly _dare. Think about it, Holmes. Think about it. Every man has his price, and I would dare say I've found yours." He smiled again, a twisted, snakish expression, and wished me goodnight. _

_For a fleeting instant I contemplated shooting him where he stood - but for some odd reason, I suddenly, unaccountably, thought of Watson and how he was solidly on the side of justice. He would never shoot an unarmed man in the back, even the greatest criminal mastermind of the century._

_When the door had shut behind him, I collapsed into my usual chair, feebly trying to process what I had just heard. I stared gloomily at Watson's empty chair across from me, my thoughts in absolute turmoil, my composure close to shattered._

_Watson has always said it helps to talk about things. I have no one in which I can confide, which is why I have here recorded the events of this afternoon. I have no idea where to turn now – what to do, how to get Watson out of danger. Even if I could drop the case, it is too late now - the police have a major portion of my evidence, holding it in readiness for when we can make the arrests. What am I to do? God help me. It is most definitely going to be a sleepless night._

_SH_

I sat there as the entry finished, stunned at the conversation I had just finished reading. Why had Holmes not told me of this when he came to see me later that week? Surely it was not out of distrust? Was he under some strange impression that ignorance was a form of protection for me? Why would he not at least inform me of the danger I evidently was in? My mind filled with questions, I turned to the only source of answers I had at the moment, the next entry in the journal.

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**To Be Continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

_"What am I to do? God help me. It is most definitely going to be a sleepless night."_

The last words from the journal entry for April 26,1891, still rang in my ears with the silent desperation Holmes must have felt as he penned them. I slowly turned the page to the next entry. All else forgotten, I continued to read this horrific tale.

_April 27, 1891_

_10:00 pm._

_It has been over 24 hours since Professor Moriarty left my sitting room, and I am no closer to knowing what to do than I was after he departed yesterday. Why am I so unable to retain enough control to formulate a plan of action? _

_In desperate frustration I have turned back to this journal as an outlet for my feelings – Watson's advice to tell someone still rings in my head. How I wish I could just go to him and tell him the danger I have placed him in! But how can I? _

_How can I tell my best, indeed my only, friend, that his life has become no more than a pawn in this giant chess game? Moriarty's opening gambit is deadly, and my queen has never been in such jeopardy. How can I tell Watson he is no more than a pawn to the Professor? To me, yes, his value goes beyond any piece I have with which to bargain – but to the Napoleon of Crime, he is no more than a worthless pawn, valuable only for his association with the key chessman._

_The thought of it makes my blood boil, and I am still finding it hard to concentrate like the ideal reasoner Watson is so fond of depicting me as. I wonder if he ever realizes that I am very definitely not omnipotent, as this sordid drama has clearly shown to me. I realize now more than ever just how fallible I am. What am I to do?_

_I can hear the Doctor telling me to take a deep breath and calm down. Strange, how much Watson pervades even my subconscious thoughts. I cannot bear the thought of what would happen if that influence were to be stripped away from me as Moriarty intends to do._

_No! I will not allow it! Rather would I burn every shred of evidence I have against Moriarty and his entire gang than see that happen. I would never be able to live with the guilt of knowing my worst nightmare had come true – that harm had come to Watson because of his association with me. I cannot, and will not, allow it. I will go and see Inspector Patterson at once and demand, cajole, or steal the evidence he has – whatever it takes, I shall get it back._

_Perhaps Watson is right – releasing emotions can help the mind become clearer. I wonder on how many other points is he right and I am wrong?_

_SH_

I smiled, a little sadly, as I read the last lines of that entry. Many different emotions were swirling around in my own consciousness. I was touched by the things that Holmes had said about me, things that I already knew he felt but would die before he would tell me. I was angry at Moriarty, dead though he was at that point, for putting my friend through such turmoil; I felt some sense of guilt at being, as Holmes put it, a mere pawn in that game.

But the questions I had still remained unanswered. And what of this evidence that the police had? Obviously, since we had to flee the country, Holmes was not able to get the evidence back from the police. I turned to the next page, dated the following day. This was the page that had at first grabbed my attention earlier in the evening.

_April 28, 1891_

_11:00 am._

_It is with great frustration I continue this entry – why I continue to vent on paper is a mystery to me, but it does seem to help; if for no other reason than to allow me to remain in an outwardly calm state._

_I went early this morning, after yet another sleepless night, to the Yard to see Inspector Patterson. I had no difficulty perceiving the man who was following me – Moriarty really should choose his underlings with more care. However, I wanted the Professor to know that I was trying to obey his ultimatum, and so I made no effort to shake my pursuer off my trail._

_I met Patterson in his office less than an hour ago. I will not dwell on the exchange, for it will only stir up emotions yet again that I am loathe to let even a journal see. Suffice it to say I was unable to obtain the evidence, and received a stern dressing-down from the Inspector for suggesting that I was wrong in the case and it should be dropped._

_The imbecile! Does he not understand the ramifications of it_ not _getting dropped? He is delirious with the possibility of being in charge of the most sensational arrest and trial of the century, and nothing will change his mind on the matter. What am I to do? Even if I were to step out now, the damage has been done, and Moriarty will still be finished even if I refrain from involvement from now on._

_He will never accept that as an excuse, I know. I can see that snake-like head oscillating side to side even as I sit here writing, and as I do so my imagination conjures up the most horrible things that will happen if I do not find a way to stop this – but I cannot. I, Sherlock Holmes, the world's foremost consulting detective, am helpless. My great brain cannot even conceive a way to save the life of my dearest friend._

_Forgive me, Watson._

I stopped reading. Tears stung the back of my eyes as the hopeless desperation of Holmes's tone was evident to me through his writing. That last line, evidence of my friend's distraught emotional state, nearly broke my heart. I continued reading, the final lines of that entry being those I already knew.

_It has been two long, harrowing days since Moriarty gave me his ultimatum – drop the case, or Watson dies. I would care naught for his words if it were my life he were threatening – I fear few things, and death is not one of them. But the Professor has discovered my one weakness, Watson's safety, and I am at a loss what to do. Pray God I can find a way to extricate us both from the clutches of this monster._

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_7:00 pm._

_I believe I have now worn a permanent hole in the carpet between my bedroom and the fireplace. I dare not walk in front of the windows; I suspect one of Moriarty's minions stands ready with VonHerder's fantastic air-gun trained on my sitting room._

_Or perhaps he waits with the sights trained on the windows of a certain consulting-room in Kensington. I tremble at the thought, and shake the disturbing mental pictures out of my head. _

_I simply must find a way out of this predicament. I have given up even caring about my own worthless life – it would mean naught to me if something were to happen to Watson through my own incompetence. I will devote all my energies and my life to preventing the worst from happening to him._

_Of course! Two can play at Moriarty's game, and I am every whit the Professor's equal in intellect. Watson __**shall**__ be safe, or I shall die in the attempt. He should be finished in his consulting room now – I will put a plan into action at once. _

_I can see why Watson enjoys his scribbling – it really does clear the mind. Please God, before the sun sets this time tomorrow, Watson will be out of danger, at least for the present._

_SH _

I stopped reading and realized after some quick calculating that April 28 of '91 was the very night Holmes had come into my consulting room and told me for the first time of Moriarty, his gang, upcoming arrest, and his attempts on Holmes's life. I wondered briefly how much of what my companion had told me that night was the truth. The rest of the journal would tell me, I knew, and so I kept reading, oblivious to the fact that the fire had gone out and the room was growing chilly.

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**To Be Continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

_Two can play at Moriarty's game, and I am every whit the Professor's equal in intellect. _

_Watson __**shall**__ be safe, or I shall die in the attempt. Please God, before the sun sets this time tomorrow, Watson will be out of danger, at least for the present._

_SH

* * *

_

I got up to light the gas, since darkness had begun to fall and the fire reduced to mere glowing coals while I was engrossed in the drama unfolding before me. I absently noted that Mrs. Hudson had laid a cold supper and distractedly wondered if she had seen the mess that lay unfinished in Holmes's bedroom. As soon as I had enough light to see by I went back to my chair and began to read once more.

_April 29, 1891_

_1:00 am._

_The clock in Watson's consulting room has a distinctly unearthly quality about its chiming, I must say. As I sit here in his front room, remaining alert to any possible intruder, I wonder what he would say if he knew I were actually in his house, keeping watch for danger, when I told him I would not stay the night because of said danger._

_Dear chap, he of course said he would rather face the danger with me than to let me face it alone. If only he knew. As I sit here, I still wonder why I could not bring myself to tell him the truth. It is not that he would not have believed me; if I told him I was from another planetary system I dare say he would believe me out of his sheer loyalty. It is not that I fear his nerve in the face of danger – far from it, rather. Why then did I fabricate half of what I told him tonight?_

_Why have I not been able to tell him the truth? After the kind of serious soul-searching I have done in these last sleepless three days, I can only say that I suppose the reason is that such a confession would certainly reveal more emotion than I have ever been wont to show. I simply cannot bare my soul in that free and open manner, not even to Watson. _

There I had it. The answer to probably seventy-five percent of my unanswered questions. He did not tell me the truth because he was Sherlock Holmes. And Sherlock Holmes simply does not open his heart and soul to anyone, not even myself. It was not a matter of trust; it was just simply not a part of his proud nature. I had come to that realization long ago, and his words merely confirmed what I already knew.

_Considering what is at stake here, I am being very selfish and I know it. I was on the verge of telling him the truth as he calmly got up from his chair and loaded his old Army revolver, stating to me that he wished I would spend the night so that he could keep an eye on me. The disappointment in his face when I refused nearly pushed me over the edge to telling him all._

_I am undoubtedly the worst possible friend that has ever lived. What I ever did to deserve such a faithful, staunch comrade is beyond me. I swear by all that's holy, I will see Watson safe if I have to be with him every second and end up killing Moriarty with my own hands. If that is what it takes, I shall do it. _

_My plans are in readiness, and with my brother's help on the morrow, we should be able to make an escape safely. I pray that Watson will follow my instructions to the letter in the morning – I told him our lives depend on it, but in reality it is _his_ that does._

_Until then, I shall keep this lonely vigil in his consulting rooms. I find an odd pleasure in knowing that I can do this for my friend, albeit he is completely unaware of my actions. And if, as I foresee, Moriarty succeeds in catching up with us on our flight, then I will be glad to have the knowledge that my last night in England was spent in a nobler cause than my petty little deductive problems over which I make so much ado. _

_The Professor or one of his men will undoubtedly follow us. And I know that one of us will in all probability not return from the Continent. And I swear that one will not be Watson. _

_SH_

I then realized why Holmes had been so intense in his telling me of what I must do that next morning. The Lowther Arcade, the cloaked coachman, not taking the first or second cab that conveniently presented itself – all that had been an elaborate ploy to keep _me_ out of danger.

I marveled at my friend's brilliant planning, and I was deeply moved by the fact that he had stayed in my consulting room, keeping guard over my wife and me while we slept – that was why he had not been in Baker Street when it was set on fire that night. I continued reading.

_April 30, 1891_

_I snatch a few moments now to write of the events of the day. The movement of the train has put Watson to sleep – I shall be glad when we get to the Continent so that I may do the same. Until then, I know we are not out of danger and I will not rest until I feel we are somewhat safe._

_I am very proud of my dear Watson – he followed my instructions exactly. I left his house when I heard the servants stirring, entrusting his care to Wiggins, whom I had set to watch the front door. A bunch of his little band were employed in watching the other entrances to Watson's house as well as keeping an eye on all passers-by._

_I thought I had taken every precaution, but I still felt a horrible fear like a dead weight at my heart as the time drew near for his arrival. I had timed everything to the second almost, and as the time got closer I grew more and more anxious. Words cannot describe my intense relief when I saw the cab driven by Mycroft stop at the curb and the figure of my best friend emerge, perfectly safe._

_I watched as he headed for my railway carriage and finally settled back into my seat with a relieved sigh. He opened the door, and I almost laughed out loud at his reaction to the Italian priest he found invading his compartment; but the conductor made him enter and shut the door unceremoniously in his face._

_My amusement faded as I saw the genuine fear and worry on his face when he realized the train was departing and he had not seen me yet. I hadn't the heart to keep him in suspense any longer._

_"My dear Watson, you have not even condescended to say 'good morning,' " I said, allowing my amusement to be heard through the words._

_The look on his face as he whirled around to face me and gasped out my name would have been comical had the situation not been so grave. _

_I looked past him out the window and caught my breath. An icy wave of fear rushed through me as I saw a familiar figure running through the crowd._

_"No," I whispered._

_"Holmes? Are you all right?" _

_I heard Watson's concerned voice behind me, but all I could see was that sinister figure dashing madly through the station, screaming in rage for the train to stop. Moriarty himself. With all my careful planning! With a shudder I thanked God that he had not caught up with Watson before he reached the safety of the station._

_"Holmes?"_

_I settled back limply in my seat and tried to manage a smile for Watson's benefit. I do not believe he was fooled, but he tactfully remained his normal self, probably chalking my distress as nerves. Which was true, to an extent._

_"You see, with all our planning, we cut it rather fine," I commented, using the removal of my disguise as an opportunity to pull my emotions back under a tight rein._

_"That was Moriarty?"_

_"The same."_

_After removing my priest's garb, I had calmed myself down enough to be thinking lucidly again, and I explained the gravity of the situation to Watson, with the omission of the vital fact that it was he who was in danger and not I._

_We got out at the Canterbury station and barely had time to walk away from the tracks before I saw the smoke and heard the whistle of Moriarty's special train. Thanking God I had made the correct deduction about my opponent's actions, I pulled Watson behind a pile of luggage and we watched the train pass. I let out my breath with a slow hiss, feeling some semblance of relief course through my tired body. Perhaps we would make it after all._

_Perhaps. But if I know Moriarty, I cannot relax my guard even for an instant. I shall not let Watson out of my sight until Moriarty is put behind bars, however long that takes._

_SH_

So that was why he had been so distraught on the train. I felt that chill run over me again as I realized the danger I had been in – Moriarty had been following _me_, not Holmes, that day, and if Holmes had not had such a plan in place, then I might very well have never made it to the station.

I read on through the next few pages, but there was little there that I did not already know; he was simply detailing our journey through the Continent. Under the entry for that fateful Monday, when the arrests were to be made, I found an interesting bit.

_Curse the man! After all this, I still had a faint hope that Patterson would get Moriarty! I should have known that the Professor would never allow that to happen! _

_I received the telegram from Patterson at dinner this evening, telling me he had arrested all the members of the gang except the Professor himself. And, I suspected, that lieutenant of his that was so safeguarded even I had trouble getting concrete evidence against him. That man was an old Indian tiger hunter, and the thought that he and his master might be tracking our movements with that air-gun is enough to make even my iron nerve uneasy._

_Along with Patterson's message was a wire from my brother. _PATTERSON ARRESTED ENTIRE GANG SAVE MORIARTY AND MORAN STOP WATSON IN GRAVE DANGER STOP DO NOT LET OUT OF YOUR SIGHT SHERLOCK IF YOU VALUE HIS LIFE STOP. _Watson thought I threw the messages into the fire out of anger; little did he know I did it so he would not read the real truth. I continue to be wary, but if Moriarty and Moran are following us, I have not seen any sign of them._

_That, of course, is in itself suspicious. _

_I had not counted on the odds being two against two. No, two against one, for I will never let Watson get caught in the middle of this. We move on to Switzerland in the morning, and I can only hope and pray that all will be well._

_Just the same, I believe I will sleep tonight with a revolver under my pillow and my bedroom door ajar._

_SH_

I shuddered as I remembered Sebastian Moran and VonHerder's air-gun. I was almost glad Holmes had not told me that both Moran and Moriarty were following us; or more specifically, me. The strain on Holmes's nerves at that point must have been horrific – but it was mute testimony to his admirable composure that, up until reading this account, I had no inkling of the pressure he was feeling.

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	5. Chapter 5

_I had not counted on the odds being two against two. No, two against one, for I will never let Watson get caught in the middle of this. We move on to Switzerland in the morning, and I can only hope and pray that all will be well._

_Just the same, I believe I will sleep tonight with a revolver under my pillow and my bedroom door ajar._

_SH_

I got up for a moment, stretched, and threw a log on the fire, not really caring if the fire came to life or not. I was saddened at the knowledge that what Holmes had done, he had done for my sake, not just for the triumph of a great case. I almost shut the book and replaced it on Holmes's shelf, but I did want to know what really took place the day of Reichenbach. After a moment's hesitation I turned through the pages until I reached the entry dated May 4.

Even now, I still remember the events of that horrible day as if they had happened yesterday, and I could still feel as I read that same icy dread that had filled me the day I found the note at the Falls, telling me my dearest friend was gone, I thought forever. I briefly considered how reading this might change my view of that fateful day, and then I plunged into the story once more.

_May 4, 1981_

_3:00 am._

_I sit on my bed in this lovely little room, trying to get a hold on the turmoil that is in my mind right now. Moriarty is close – I feel it. Those two men I saw through my field-glasses yesterday – they have to be the Professor and his Colonel. I have a kind of sixth sense for danger, and even my exhausted senses tell me this day will be the climax of the whole affair. _

_Dear Watson, he is still asleep in the other bedroom, oblivious to the intense danger he has been in. I shall never forget the night I (to keep up the deception; I knew he would never abandon me) asked him to return to London. He refused, as I knew he would, assuring me that his place was by my side. Poor chap, it is because of that confounded loyalty of his that his is in so much danger now. How in ten years he has managed to break through my barriers and make his way into my affections I shall never know or understand – but evidently Professor Moriarty does understand, a fact I deeply regret._

_My hand clenches convulsively around the pen I hold as I worry about what the day may hold for both of us. Moriarty and Moran are hot on our trail, and I know that they know I am aware of their presence. Moriarty's occupation in London is gone now, and he will use all of his formidable energy to revenging himself on me by harming Watson. _

_Herr Steiler recommended we visit the Reichenbach Falls for our daily excursion for today, and all my senses are screaming alarms against this proposition – the timing and location are just too perfect for the kind of convenient 'accidents' with which Moriarty is wont to dispose of his victims. Yes, Reichenbach is where he will attack, I can feel it._

_Now, how can I get rid of the Professor without bringing danger to Watson?

* * *

_

_4:00 am._

_My dear Watson. He must have heard my continual pacing up and down the room. I was unaware of his presence until I heard his voice quietly speak behind me._

_"Holmes, won't you try to sleep for a little while, at least? You'll wear yourself out at this rate," he said gently, trying not to yawn openly._

_"I'm sorry, my dear fellow, I didn't mean to wake you."_

_"'S all right, Holmes," he said sleepily, "I just wish you wouldn't worry so. Leave the anxiety to the daylight hours, eh?"_

_I smiled. Some things never change, Watson's gentle concern being among them. "I promise, my dear chap, when this is all over, I shall sleep for a long, long time. Until then, you'll just have to let me worry."_

_He studied me for a long while. Then he stifled a yawn._

_"Go back to bed, Watson. I shall be quiet, I promise."_

_He nodded and turned to leave. Then he turned, and fixed me with one of those peculiarly piercing looks that were reminiscent of my own brother's._

_"Holmes. You know that I always have my revolver beside me when I sleep?"_

_"Yes, Watson?"_

_"And I am a very light sleeper – I hear everything?"_

_"Yes, my dear fellow?"_

_"So if something were to happen, I would hear it. There's no need for you to check on me every night," he said pointedly, "please try to stop worrying about Moriarty and get some sleep, won't you?"_

_I was glad he turned away before my face flushed uncomfortably. I had no idea he was aware of my midnight ramblings, in which I often stopped to check and see that all was well with him. Why was I embarrassed at being found out? There is no shame in being concerned for another, is there?_

_As I heard his bedroom door close, I turned back to the bed and sat still, trying to formulate a plan. I have sat here for close to an hour, idly doodling in the margins of these pages. At last I believe I have one. And this time, Moriarty will not escape. _

_Of course, if the plan goes as I intend, neither will I. But at least Watson will be safe. And that is all that matters._

_And now I shall try to get a few hours sleep – it would not do for my alertness to be less than standard tomorrow, if I am to protect Watson from the two most dangerous men in Europe._

_SH_

I had completely forgotten about that interview the night before the Falls – now I remembered everything. How blind I had been! Why had I not seen the reason for his unusually solicitous behavior? Could I have prevented what happened that day at the Falls had I known? I now felt a serious burden of guilt at what had happened and my own incompetence in not using Holmes's own methods to make some elementary deductions as to why he was acting that way.

Trying unsuccessfully to shake off the chilling guilt that swept over me, I continued. The next entry was dated the next day, May 5, the day after the Reichenbach fiasco. With a sigh, I began to read.

_How can I even begin this narrative? I am still amazed to be alive, at this point in time. Twelve hours ago I was facing my archenemy above the Reichenbach Falls, knowing that the next five minutes would be my last minutes in this lifetime. Now, I sit in this tiny bedroom in this tiny hostelry ten miles from the Falls, trying to make sense out of what I have done. Will Watson ever forgive me?_

_I acted on instinct and worry for his safety, but still I wonder. He thinks me dead, and for his own safety I cannot divulge the truth to him – but when the time comes, however long it may be, will he forgive me?_

_But I am following my dear friend's habit of telling my stories backwards. I suppose I should collect myself enough to put down on paper what exactly transpired yesterday – why, I do not know; I doubt anyone will ever read it. But for my own sake, in my own defense, I suppose I should write down why I acted as I did._

_Where to start? After about two hours of restless slumber I awoke and started putting my plan into action. Taking a piece of Steiler's hotel notepaper, I disguised my handwriting and wrote a false note urgently requesting Watson's return to the Englischer Hof. I knew that the only thing that would tear him from my side would be a call to his duty as a doctor and loyalty to the Hippocratic Oath – even so, I knew I would have to practically order him to leave me. However, it had to be done if he was to remain safe._

_After forging the letter and sealing it in the hotel envelope, I checked to see that Watson was still asleep and then went downstairs to the hotel lobby. I found Herr Steiler out front and asked him if he knew of a boy around who would be willing to spend the day in my employ. Steiler told me of one and told me where he lived in the village – but the image of the two men I had seen the day before was still in my mind. _

_I thought of Watson, still sleeping upstairs, and then of Mycroft's telegram, and decided to have Steiler find the boy and send him up to my room. This he agreed to do, and two hours later, by the time Watson was awake, I had all my plans in readiness._

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	6. Chapter 6

_May 5, 1891_

_Two hours later, by the time Watson was awake, I had all my plans in readiness._

_We breakfasted late in the morning at the Hof and then set off across the mountains. The plan was for the two of us to visit the Falls for a little time and then go on over the mountains to Rosenlaui. But I knew that probably neither of us would end up in that little hamlet._

_As we walked I kept a close watch around us for Moriarty or Moran but saw nothing. That aroused my suspicions even more – things had been much too quiet since that boulder had come crashing down on us two days ago. _

_Watson of course put my agitation down to strained nerves, which is exactly what I wished him to do. Poor fellow, he never realized exactly what was going through my mind that last week, and he probably never will._

_I am not a writer, and therefore I will skip all description of the place and concentrate on the events that transpired shortly after our arrival at the Reichenbach Falls. We stood there for some minutes, gazing at the scene, when suddenly I heard a sound that made my heart plummet to my boots. _

_The Swiss youth that I had employed was running for all he was worth towards us on the narrow path. My heart sank as I realized what it meant. This was the end._

_I had entertained some fond hope that I was merely being too suspicious and everything would be fine – not so. I had employed the lad to follow us at a large distance with a pair of field glasses; and if he saw two men heading for us, he was to take off as fast as he could and get Watson out of here with my falsified note. And here was the boy, running at all speed down the path._

_We met him halfway, Watson read the letter, and turned to me._

_"I really must go, Holmes."_

_"Of course you must, my dear fellow."_

_"But I cannot leave you – come back with me?"_

_If he only knew how I wished to! But I had vowed to end the danger to him today, and I am a man of my word._

_"No, Watson. I shall remain here – it is a lovely spot to remain quiet and think, and it shall do me good. I'll meet you later this evening in Rosenlaui, eh?"_

_He hesitated, torn between two duties. I was worried for a moment that he wasn't really going to go, but then he nodded._

_"You're quite sure you will be all right?" he asked, brow furrowing with concern._

_"Quite, Watson," I assured him. "Now you really must hurry."_

_He turned to leave, and then looked back to me. _

_"Here, Holmes," he said, pulling his revolver from his pocket, "keep this with you, at least."_

_I once again was touched by this man's absolute loyalty. But of course I could never accept the weapon; he might need it if my carefully-laid plans went awry somehow._

_"No, Watson. You may need it more than I," I said. Hastily correcting my slip, I went on, "you are definitely the better shot. If it will make you feel better, I shall keep this boy with me until I get to Rosenlaui."_

_He relaxed somewhat, nodded, and turned to leave. I was suddenly seized with the awful impact of the knowledge that I would never see him again._

_"Watson!" I called impulsively before I could pull my feelings back into control._

_"Holmes?" he looked at me quizzically._

_My mouth opened, wanting to say something, anything, that would show him how much I appreciated his loyalty, his friendship – but no words would come. Besides, we were running out of time – Moriarty was drawing nearer with the passing of every minute. I closed my mouth, unable to say anything. Then I managed one short sentence around the lump in my throat._

_"Take care, Watson?" I asked softly._

_"I shall," he assured, "do not worry about me, Holmes."_

_I could only nod as he turned and made his way down the mountain. _

I remember well that short exchange – Holmes had been singularly distracted; I thought at the time that it was some kind of premonition. It was – but not the kind I had thought for these seven years. I was also shocked to learn that my friend had written that note purporting to be from Herr Steiler, not Moriarty as I was led to believe. How I wished I had recognized the handwriting! If I had stayed, perhaps two against two the odds would have been better and Holmes would not have had to live as a fugitive for three years. With a sigh, I continued reading.

_As soon as Watson was out of sight, I produced my own pistol, which had been in my coat pocket, handed it to the youth, and nodded. The boy quirked an eyebrow at me._

_"Take good care of him, lad," I said, wishing desperately that faint uncharacteristic tremor would leave my voice. I was growing soft. Or else just suffering from a severe lack of sleep._

_"Of course, Herr Holmes," the boy replied, handling the gun with ease, putting it in his pocket. "Nothing shall happen to him. The two men you mentioned are coming from above; Herr Doctor is going on the path below. He has nothing to fear."_

_Relief coursed through me. "Then off with you, my lad," I directed, fearing for the boy's safety if Moriarty caught him here with me. Besides, he was to not let Watson out of his sight until he reached the Englischer Hof. The boy gave me a quick smile and scampered off down the path Watson had just trod._

_With a sigh of relief, filled with the feeling of knowing I had done the right thing, I sat on a large boulder to await Moriarty's arrival. I briefly wondered if he would bring Moran with him and if not, where he would station him. _

_I also had to plan what to say to the Professor that would prevent harm coming to Watson from the remaining members of his gang. I have had to negotiate with many people over my years as a consulting detective, but never have the stakes been this high._

_It was not long at all before I saw him standing on that narrow path that led to safety. I was put at a little unease realizing that Moran was nowhere to be seen. Praying he had not seen Wason leave, I stood and waited for the Professor with my arms folded and what I hoped was a stoic expression on my face._

_His own features were moving in that snakish fashion that I loathe so, as he took in my surroundings and the fact that Watson was absent._

_"I've been expecting you, Professor."_

_"So I see, Holmes. I have to confess to being a bit taken aback. Where is the Doctor? I know you were together less than an hour ago."_

_"I rather thought you would try something of this sort, Moriarty. I have a proposition for you."_

_He studied me for a moment in silence. "Go on, Holmes."_

_I took a deep breath to steady myself and then went on. "You may not believe me, Professor, but I really did try to get Patterson to drop the case. I begged him, pleaded with him, even threatened him, but to no avail. I give you my word, I tried my hardest."_

_His hooded eyes blinked once. "I believe you," he said simply._

_"I most certainly am telling you the truth. Patterson refused to drop the case, and so I knew your ultimatum would still stand. But I have kept one trump card up my sleeve, Moriarty."_

_"I should like to hear it."_

_"Your lieutenant, Sebastian Moran, who I have no doubt is covering this exchange with that unique air-gun of his. I gave Patterson no evidence against him. Unless I make it back to England to testify at the trial, Moran will go free. That's my trump, Professor. Your lieutenant's freedom for Watson's safety."_

_The man's head had started that oscillation again, nearly unnerving me, but I went on._

_"My verbal evidence is what it would take to convict Moran, Professor. However, since your occupation is now gone and you are unable to return to England, I'm offering you the opportunity for personal revenge on me and the guarantee of the liberty of your lieutenant."_

_He blinked in some surprise. "In other words, Holmes, you're offering me a duel to the death, in exchange for letting Moran go free and Watson return to England unharmed?"_

_"Precisely, Professor. I am offering you the opportunity to make sure I never return to England to testify, and I am requesting that you instruct Moran that Watson is to be left alone. He yet knows nothing of the matter – I merely told him that you were following me. He does not even know of Moran's existence, and as such can be of no danger to Moran's liberty."_

_Moriarty studied me for a moment. "I believe I have underestimated you, Holmes. You really mean what you say, do you not?"_

_"I do."_

_"You would really allow me to kill you if I would let the Doctor go free?"_

_"I would," I declared, hoping my voice remained unshaken._

_His malevolent gaze momentarily changed to some bewilderment, and then it hardened once more into that vengeful look that had come close to terrifying me in my sitting room. For a few breathless moments I thought he was not going to accept my offer. Then he gave a low, sharp whistle._

_Moments later, I saw the grizzled features and strong build of Colonel Sebastian Moran appear on the pathway. He walked with purpose up to his master._

_"Moran, Mr. Holmes and I have some unfinished business to take care of. As of this moment, I have given Holmes my word that the Doctor will not be harmed. He knows nothing of the matter, and I have exchanged his life for your liberty, Moran. The Doctor is not to be touched. You are to return to England and carry on business as usual."_

_Words fail me to tell of the absolute relief that washed over me at hearing my greatest enemy pronounce those words. I could pass into the next life without fear, knowing that my last deed in this had been to procure safety for my best friend. _

_My faint sigh of relief must have been audible to Moriarty, for he turned to me with that malevolent gaze and his features twisted into a snake-like smile._

_"You do understand, Holmes, that by doing this, you have signed your own death sentence," he said with thinly veiled glee, "you know I intended to kill you all along the way – I merely enjoyed seeing how much distress I would cause you by threatening your biographer. Although I think it would be more painful to you to see something happen to him, you are far too dangerous an opponent to be allowed to go free, Holmes. I wanted you all along, you know, and only you. I must thank you for walking into the opportunity I have been longing for!"_

_I was momentarily nonplussed at Moriarty's free admission that he had been merely toying with me, a deep frown crossing my face at the knowledge that my near-panicked reactions had been mere amusement for him. However, I would die before I allowed him the satisfaction of knowing he was right._

_"I was aware of the fact, Professor," I returned serenely. "You had better get your lieutenant out of harm's way. We have only a short time before Watson realizes the note I wrote was a ruse and returns here."_

_"Very well. If you would wish to write him a farewell, I suppose I could allow you five minutes in which to do so, Holmes. I shall give Moran his final instructions about the trial in London. Five minutes, Holmes, and then I will return to settle with you."_

_I thanked him and took out my memorandum book. Oddly enough, I felt no trace of my previous nervousness. Instead, I was filled with a calm satisfaction of knowing what I had done. _

_I wrote a note to Watson, again wishing I had his gift of words to say something that would alleviate some of the misery I knew he would soon be feeling. How much it would grieve him and how much guilt he would feel at my death made me more than a little uneasy. But surely it was better for him to be alive and grieving, than to have him fall into the hands of this madman. Yes, that is definitely better._

_I finished the note, giving Moriarty my word that there was naught in it that would betray Moran, and left it on the boulder, weighted by my silver cigarette case. Then I walked to the edge of the falls and stood at bay._

_The fight was not long but quite difficult as I remember – it all happened so quickly that I am at a loss as to even recall or describe it. And I still am amazed that I even survived against Moriarty. I have only my knowledge of Baritsu and the grace of God to thank for preserving my life. When Moriarty had fallen into the abyss I stood, trying to get my breath back, my mind reeling with what I had done._

_When I had pulled myself under control once more, I realized that the danger was not yet over. My bargain with Moriarty had necessitated my not returning to England to testify in the trial of the Moriarty gang. If I revealed to the world that I had survived the duel with the Professor, Watson would again be in as much danger as before. I could not allow that to happen. _

_I __**would**__ not allow that to happen. _

_I had to flee. But I knew I had little time before Watson returned to find myself a hiding place. Much as I did not wish to see and hear his reactions, I knew I had to secrete myself somewhere in the next few minutes until darkness fell and I could escape over the mountains. _

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	7. Chapter 7

_May 5, 1891_

_If I revealed to the world that I had survived the duel with the Professor, Watson would again be in as much danger as before. I could not allow that to happen. _

_I __**would**__ not allow that to happen. _

_I had to flee. But I knew I had precious little time before Watson returned to find myself a hiding place. Much as I did not wish to see and hear his reactions, I knew I had to secrete myself somewhere in the next few minutes until darkness fell and I could escape over the mountains. _

I paused in my reading, deep in thought over what I just finished. So only part of what Holmes had told me about the Falls was the truth, as I had suspected. And he had, to use his own chess analogy, done the unspeakable – offering the queen as a sacrifice to save the pawn. Again I felt the guilt that, had I stayed with him, together we might have bested Moran and his master.

My guilt and shock soon turned to frustration with Holmes for not telling me the truth. Not because of his not telling me of the danger; I recognized that for what it was – his idea of protecting me. But I was disappointed that he had not told me so that I could be of help, so that I could share his intense stress of the moment and help him with that burden, instead of blissfully remaining unaware of the sinister drama being enacted around me. I frowned, continuing my perusal of this singular tale.

_I had barely hidden myself on a ledge when Watson returned. I will say no more than that it was the absolute hardest thing I have ever had to witness. How I wanted to call out to him, to see his face at my melodramatic reappearance. How I wish I could have put his mind at rest. But I cannot. Not until I can put Moran where he will never have a chance to harm either of us again. _

_That shall be my objective for however long it takes to –_

My reading was suddenly interrupted by Sherlock Holmes flinging the door open, scattering snow everywhere from off his overcoat. I gasped with shock and the shame of being caught snooping in his private journal and dropped the book with a resounding thump.

"Watson! We did it!" he shouted jubilantly, striding to the file cabinet in the corner and stuffing the Beddington file in a random drawer. "Mycroft said that was the last piece of evidence he needed. And just in time for Christmas! Dear me, you must have been busy, old fellow, I dare say I rushed off this afternoon leaving quite a mess behind me!"

His excitement shone, as it always did at the closing of a case, through his tone of voice, and he had not yet seen the hot flush of embarrassment that had flooded my features upon his unexpected return.

He pulled up on the window shade and looked out at the swirling snow. "It looks as if we shall certainly have snow for Christmas, Watson. It must be close to freezing out there!"

"Holmes," I began.

"Mrs. Hudson!" I winced, as his yells could most likely have woken our neighbors and it was nearly midnight. The long-suffering woman might not even be up still.

"Holmes?"

"I am chilled to the bone, Watson. Would you like some coffee?"

"Holmes –"

"Mrs. Hudson! Where the devil is that woman? Mrs. Hudson!"

"HOLMES!"

That got his attention, and he spun round to look at me. The sparkle in his eyes reflecting his recent success suddenly faded.

"Is something the matter, Watson?"

"Holmes, I – have to tell you something." I hesitated, not knowing how to inform him of my transgression.

"Well, out with it, man. Do you mind if I change out of these cold clothes while we talk?"

"Um, Holmes –"

But he had already disappeared into his bedroom.

"I see the arms of your tidying efforts did not quite reach the recesses of my bedroom, Watson," he called through the open door.

"That's what I have to tell you, Holmes!" I called back, walking over to stand in the doorway.

"That you didn't clean up my room? My dear fellow, I never expected you to, so don't trouble yourself about it." He flung his grey dressing-gown over his shoulders and turned to face me with a smile.

My resolve nearly melted. Perhaps I could just wait until he was out of his room and sneak the book back into the pile of litter that yet remained on the floor?

But no, I knew the only honorable course was to tell my friend that I had intruded on a part of his life he did not wish me to know. Not knowing how to begin, I simply blurted out the truth without giving myself time to think about it.

"Holmes, I was in the middle of cleaning up the books and such in here when one of them fell, open, on the floor. I picked it up, saw my name, and started reading it," I said, once again feeling my face flush with shame, "I – have no excuse for that intrusion on your privacy."

I believe I was fortunate he had just finished a case and was in a fairly pleasant mood.

"Well, Watson, I can hardly be angry with you for taking a break from cleaning up my things. It had to have been quite a job. Which case were you so curious about that you would chance evoking my wrath at having my files disturbed?" His tone was cautiously jesting, his manner light as he posed the question, walking past me to the mantelpiece and beginning to fill his pipe.

As he lit it I bent down and picked up the volume in question. "The Moriarty case," I whispered, shamefacedly handing him the journal.

His teasing manner evaporated as quickly as it had been assumed, and he unceremoniously snatched the book from my hands.

"I told you never to question me about that case, Watson," he said sternly, in a tone that brooked no argument.

"I'm sorry, Holmes, but -"

"But nothing, Watson! How dare you?"

I endeavored to find the words to excuse or at least explain my conduct, but I could not. Holmes fixed me with a long look of disappointment and anger, and then turned his back on me, vanishing into his bedroom. I saw and heard the door slam with undue violence behind him.

The realization that he had every right to behave in such a manner and that I deserved worse from him for invading his obviously very private life did nothing to assuage the black mood that fell upon me as his door shut so unceremoniously.

Knowing that I had just deflated all his joy at solving a difficult case and destroyed all chances of spending a pleasant Christmas Eve with my dearest friend, I slowly put out the fire and trudged up the stairs to my room.

* * *

**To Be Concluded...**


	8. Chapter 8

I shut the door of my room behind me just as I heard the hall clock striking twelve. It was Christmas Day. And I had been responsible for ruining the holiday by creating a breach between Holmes and myself. The fact that I doubted whether he even remembered that it _was_ Christmas was of no consequence to that.

I had done wrong; curiosity or no curiosity, I had no right to read Holmes's private records, even if I had been cleaning them up for my friend. I had not the right to do so.

I wondered if and when he would let me apologize for my transgression. The fact that I had picked that particular case to read was very unfortunate, since it probably was the only one that had ever hit that close to Holmes's precious emotional defenses. He would not appreciate his privacy being violated in that manner. Worse still, he might not trust me fully again.

At that moment, part of me wished I had never seen the book, never read it, never found out what had really happened in that case. But part of me was so glad that I had at last found out why Holmes had not told me the truth; I was glad that I knew he had a good reason for his deception. And I was more glad still to see a little further into the soul of the man I lived with than I had ever been verbally allowed to see.

But at that moment, I wished to heaven I had never even entered his bedroom. Surely that account was not worth putting such a barrier in our relationship. Sighing, I sat on my bed, absently fingering the red bow on the small gift I had bought Holmes the week before as his Christmas present.

The little curiosities shop at the end of Baker Street was a frequent attraction to us, and it had taken none of Holmes's great deductive powers to learn that he was quite interested in the very fine magnifying glass in the store's front window.

It was very powerful for its compact size (Holmes hated nothing more that to have several bulky objects clanging around in his overcoat – my medical bag usually ended up carrying all sorts of odds and ends when we were out on cases for that very reason) and it did not take a Sherlock Holmes to deduce that he wanted it very badly. I had taken it to a jeweler friend of mine and had Holmes's initials engraved on the leather case.

Now I wondered when I would give it to him – if his mood did not change, it would likely be several days before he would emerge from his room.

And that fact was my fault entirely, I reminded myself sternly.

I unhappily turned down the blankets, suddenly realizing how frigid the air had become. After tossing and turning for over an hour, I finally dropped into a fitful sleep.

How long it was I have no idea, but I was abruptly awakened by a hoarse shout from downstairs. I sat up in my bed, puzzled at first as to what had awakened me, when I heard the noise again, but fainter this time. Throwing on my dressing gown and slippers, I walked to the staircase and listened.

As I had feared, the sounds were coming from Holmes's bedroom. He had been plagued with violent nightmares upon our return to Baker Street in '94, but they had completely vanished with time – now it looked as if they were back with a vengeance.

I crept silently down the stairs and tried the door to his bedroom. Locked.

And so was the one off the sitting room.

He had barricaded himself from all other influences, yet again. Sighing, I paused for a moment outside his door and listened.

I was appalled to hear my name several times as well as Moriarty's and Moran's, once or twice. He had not had nightmares like those in years. This episode with me must have reopened a part of his mind he had succeeded in closing off to the past.

Filled with remorse yet again, I slowly ascended the stairs back to my cold bedroom, wondering how I was going to be able to fix what I had done.

* * *

After a few hours of fitful sleeping, I awoke to the sun streaming through my window. Rolling over, I looked at the clock. Half-past eight. As I dressed, I wondered if Holmes had managed to get any sleep or if his entire night had been as violent as the part I had been privy to.

I entered our sitting room with no little trepidation, wondering if I would have to confront Holmes about my actions of the previous night then and there, but the room was empty. An empty coffee cup on the table told me he was up, but his bedroom door was now closed.

A sigh escaped my lips as I walked over to the table to pour myself a cup of my own. Judging from what I believed the day would hold, I prayed that our landlady had made the drink quite strong and considered fortifying it with a shot of brandy.

I was mulling over the possibility in my mind when I saw a package lying on my chair by the fire. Surprised, I walked over and picked it up. Wrapped in a plain brown paper and tied with a neatly knotted string, the parcel was roughly the size of one of my journals. Curious, I opened the package and turned the volume over in my hands.

It was the very same one I had stumbled upon yesterday in Holmes's room.

Opening to the inside cover I read the simple message inscribed there.

_December 25, 1897_

_Merry Christmas, my dear Watson._

_John 15:13_

Stunned by this unexpected turn of events, I stepped over to my desk and pulled out my family's Bible. John 15:13 reads _"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."_

As my eyes widened in surprise, I heard a soft, almost undistinguishable sound. I glanced up just in time to see a flash of grey before Holmes's bedroom door closed behind him.

He had been standing in the doorway, watching me open his gift.

As I heard his strident voice calling imperiously down the stairs for Mrs. Hudson to "serve breakfast at once," I smiled to myself and gently placed Holmes journal on my shelf beside my own for that year.

He entered the room somewhat sheepishly a moment later.

"I suppose it wasn't quite right to spy on you, Watson," he said, but with absolutely no trace of remorse.

"No more wrong that it was of me to intrude on your private affairs either, Holmes," I replied, beginning my apology.

"No, Watson!" he snapped emphatically. "No," he amended, "your curiosity was perfectly natural. My behavior last night was churlish, considering the fact that it was an accident and that you were actually clearing up my mess at the time. Pray accept my apologies."

"If you will accept mine, my dear fellow."

"Of course."

We stood awkwardly for a few moments until I broke the uncomfortable silence by lighting my pipe.

"You know, Holmes, I can now see why you detest my writing. Because you are no mean author yourself," I said, completely truthfully and without jealousy.

"I have learned from one of the best, Watson," he said magnanimously, gesturing at the rows of journals on my desk.

I could not restrain an undignified snort of disbelief.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?"

He started in surprise and glared at me for just a moment, and then broke into one of those odd, dry laughs of his. And after a few seconds, I joined him.

"I never get your limits, Watson," he finally said, the twinkle of the previous night finally coming back to his grey eyes.

"Nor I yours, my dear Holmes," I replied, gently tapping his journal pointedly with the stem of my pipe. "Nor I yours."

* * *

**Finis! **


End file.
